Worth the Whiskey
by you-idjits
Summary: Two times an outsider meets Dean Winchester, and two snapshots she gets of his life. She offers him advice and free beer and sees past the facade. First part is pre-series, second part takes place after 5.01 Sympathy for the Devil. Gen, focuses on the relationship between Dean and Sam and the consequences of Sam's actions in season 4. Outsider POV on Dean.


Four hours into her shift and Daisy is ready to put a bullet in her head.

Working as a bartender has its breaks, like the free drink after closing time or the opportunity to meet single men her age, but for the most part it stinks. She has to put up with bar fights, old guys hitting on her, and people so drunk they can't even order. Fridays are the worst. She barely has time to catch a breath between orders.

That's probably why she doesn't notice him at first. Daisy rarely pays attention to the billiards games in the back room. The players, caught in the corner of her eye, are pretty calm tonight. Daisy focuses more on getting out of this shithole, anyway. Her shift finishes at four, which can't come fast enough.

Eventually business starts to dwindle down, and Daisy takes the time to glance back at the pool table. At first, everything looks normal – a few muscled truckers wasting their money – but then she sees him.

He's much smaller than the others. Tall, certainly, but not big. He has an athletic build, a little gangly, like he hasn't quite gotten out of puberty. Funny; if she didn't know better, she'd think he was underage. He barely looks twenty-one as it is, although his posture is confident. Clearly he frequents bars plenty enough. He looks confident at the pool table, too. A bit young for a hustler, she thinks.

When he circles around the table for a difficult shot, she gets her first look at her face. Boyish, with a glint in his eye and a smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth. Handsome enough to be a model. Daisy finds herself wondering if he's single.

He makes the shot easily. Daisy's seen enough pool games to know he's good.

Somebody orders a drink, and her attention is pulled away. When she turns back to watch the game, it's his opponent's turn.

Hot-billiards-guy watches the game with determined focus – his stance is casual, but Daisy sees the way his eyes follow the cue ball. He holds his cue lightly, passing it back and forth between hands, fingers drumming on the shaft. It takes her a moment to realize he looks simply natural, like he belongs there.

When his turn comes along, she stands on her tiptoes to watch his play. He has only one ball left to sink before the 8 ball, and she sees the practiced ease with which he lines up his shot. It sinks smoothly, and then he makes a bank shot into a corner pocket with the 8 ball, and the game is over. The guy takes his winnings from the huge truck driver he was playing. Daisy only gets a glimpse of the money exchanged, but she can tell it's quite a lot.

She's not sure why she watches him so carefully. It's probably because he's hot, and she's in need of a hot date. She's also skeptical though, because he definitely looks too young to be in here.

So when hot-billiards-guy struts up to the bar, counting his money, and orders a beer, she demands an I.D.

He shoots her an insulted look, and flips an I.D. at her. She leans in, skims the details, and then hands him his beer. His name is Dean, and he is apparently 23.

There's no way in hell this kid is 23, but she lets it pass. The way he holds his beer, it looks like something he's done before.

Business really has slowed down in the early hours of the morning. With a hot, talented guy at her bar, Daisy now finds herself reluctant to end her shift. They flirt shamelessly.

He asks her personal questions – why this job, where she goes to school, the usual – and diverts the ones she asks him. He keeps ordering beers and she keeps supplying them.

"So where'd you learn to hustle?" she finally asks.

Dean gives her a one-shouldered shrug. "My dad, he used to do it. When I got old enough to pass for 21, I took over."

She raises an eyebrow. "Fake I.D.s, yeah? How old are you, really?"

He winks conspiratorially. "Don't spoil my fun."

She wonders, briefly, if he's a minor, and if it would be illegal for her to take him home.

"So this dad. Why isn't he here with you?"

"Working." He shrugs again. "I figured I could do some of my own work here."

"You made some nice money tonight."

"Yeah, I'd better be sure I don't spend it all on booze. I can't imagine being a bartender; I wouldn't be able to resist the urge to help myself to a shot now and again."

"I don't, sometimes." They laugh together. "Hey, my shift's over at four. You want to stick around?" She leaves the real question hanging.

He smiles. "At four in the morning? I _love_ morning sex, don't get me wrong," he says, but then adds, "but I can't. I got this money for a reason. Gotta go buy my brother some breakfast."

She feels her stomach dropping. Rejection sucks, even if there's a good reason behind it. "Yeah, I figured it's a little late – or, well, early."

He taps the rim of his empty beer, and she trades it for a full one. "This really should be my last. Like I said, I need this money for breakfast."

"What, no food at home?" Daisy jokes.

He shakes his head, all seriousness, and she bites her tongue in regret.

"Ah, fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's cool. Kinda how we roll."

"'We' being you, your dad, your brother?" When he nods, she says, "And you have to earn breakfast money by hustling pool? Sucks."

"I'll take what I can."

"Not exactly a steady source of income, is it?"

He does that half-shrug again, and damn, she really would like to take him home. She hasn't seen a guy this gorgeous and friendly in some time. Of course, apparently he's got a fucked-up family life too, and he may or may not be a minor, so maybe it's for the best that she doesn't push it.

There's something she can't quite place in his expression. Maybe it has to do with the fucked-up family life, but he looks like he's seen a lot of really bad stuff. He looks like he's putting up a front. She remembers that when he was playing pool, the way his stance was almost too casual, his smile a little too easy. That was an act, a strategy to make money. She wonders why he's putting up a front with her.

Dean gets up to leave, and she figures that's the last she'll ever see of hot-billiards-guy. Her shift ends soon anyway, and then she'll be out of this shithole. He's just another guy in her bar, and when he leaves, so does her interest in him.

* * *

Ten years later and Daisy is still working at that bar, still wiping down counters and passing out drinks. She's not sure why her life hasn't progressed past this point. She's thirty-four years old now and hasn't moved away, hasn't found a real job. Her life is static, dull. She still works the night shift and gets hit on by sleazy guys. Nothing really changes.

Nothing changes until one night, around 3:30. She's getting ready to close up the bar, because business is slow on Tuesday nights. A couple of people flirt and drink at one end of the counter. At the other end sits a middle-aged guy who just lost his job. Besides them, the bar is empty.

The door swings open and a guy around her age enters, head ducked low, feet dragging. He sits right in the middle of the counter and orders three shots of hard whiskey. He knocks them all down like wine coolers. She doesn't ask questions.

Eventually, the old guy leaves, and soon after the couple goes out hand-in-hand. Then it's just her and the guy she's nicknamed Grumpy.

Grumpy orders a beer next. He nurses it slowly, rubbing the neck of the bottle between his hands.

"Listen, dude," she says around four, "I've got to close up soon. Can I get you a check?"

He looks up for the first time. "Is it that late already?"

"Or early," she says. "Depends on how you look at it."

"Late, definitely. It's too late," he mutters, and she's not sure if he's referring to the time now.

"Sorry, can I get you anything?"

He laughs. "How about a new life?"

That gives her pause. Sure, she gets plenty of miserable blokes in here at all hours of the night. But there's something different about this one. Something about his face seems familiar, but she can't quite place it. She's sure she's seen those eyes somewhere…

"You want to talk about it?"

"You wouldn't believe me." Okay, now he's piqued her interest. Maybe she can afford to stay open late tonight.

He pats his pockets, then, and pulls out a worn wallet. But when he opens it, she sees over the counter that the cash pocket is empty. "Fuck," he says.

She feels her stomach sink. This happens occasionally, too. "I can open a tab, if you like."

"Nah, I'm getting out of this town as soon as the sun's up." He sighs and hangs his head. "Look, I…"

An idea springs at the back of her mind, something so pig-headed she'd never think of it if it wasn't four in the morning on a Wednesday. And Daisy is so damn tired of her usual routine, so damn ready to break free of it. "Okay, how about this? You tell me about this life you so desperately want to get rid of. Pay with stories, and I'll keep the keg flowing."

He raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, sweetheart, but last time I checked managers aren't a huge fan of you passing out freebies."

She shrugs. "Out of my own paycheck, then. C'mon. Your life can't be that bad."

He shakes his head. "I don't talk about myself."

"It's that, or I'm calling the police. You're broke and you owe me money. I want nothing but the truth." She drags up a chair across from him and leans her elbows on the counter. His reluctance to spill only makes her more curious.

"The truth?" He laughs. "Hell, I haven't told the truth in a very long time."

"Start with your name," she coaxes. "Mine's Daisy."

"Dean," he says, and there it is again, that feeling that she should recognize him. But being a bartender, she's seen a lot of faces over the years. Still, his is remarkable. Up close his eyes are green and brown at the same time, framed by long lashes three shades lighter than his hair. Breathtakingly gorgeous.

He has this expression on his face, though, like he's in a lot of pain and trying very hard to hide it.

"So what's going on? What's so serious that you're in a bar at four in the morning drinking everything in sight?" There are a number of expected answers – loss of a job, loss of a loved one, etc. What comes out of his mouth, though, is completely unexpected.

"You want the truth?" He glances up at her and runs his tongue between his lips. "My brother started the Apocalypse."

She isn't sure if she should laugh or be very, very scared of him. He seems completely serious. Maybe calling the police wasn't such a bad idea. Or maybe he's just exaggerating. Yeah, that must be it.

"Excuse me?"

"Hey, you asked for it, lady." He gives her a one-shoulder shrug and chugs half a beer.

Finally, she puts it all together. The half-shrug, the face, the name Dean… She remembers now, ten years ago at this same bar, maybe even in this same seat. A young man, a hustler, confident and boisterous, loaded with cash.

The man in front of her now is undeniably the same man. But he looks so much older. Sure, it's been ten years. She sees that in the set of his jaw and the stubble on his chin. But it's more than that. She thought briefly, ten years ago, that this guy had seen real horrors, but now it's much clearer. He looks terrible, honestly. He's changed so much she didn't even recognize him.

For one, his posture is completely different. Young Dean was confident, flirtatious. He took his alcohol like it was food of the gods. This Dean looks like he wants to drown himself in it.

Young Dean held his chin up, smile wide, but this Dean barely looks up at all. He sits hunched in on himself, the worn leather coat just a little too big on him. He has the same eyes, but now the look in them is much older. And Daisy isn't sure that's just the ten years. Dean has seen a lot of things between the last time he sat at this counter and now.

She realizes he's looking at her in confusion, because she's been trapped in her thoughts for the past few minutes. "I'm sorry, I just… you remind me of someone."

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask. There's another change. The young Dean was all over her, winking and flirting the whole night. This Dean seems reluctant to talk at all.

"How old are you?" she asks him.

"Twenty nine," he says.

She does the math and realizes he was underage, before. Nineteen years old and hustling pool like a professional.

"What?"

Daisy blushes. Apparently, she'd said that last bit out loud. "You, er, you came here once before. I remember you."

He gets a distant look in his eyes, but then snaps back to the present. "No, sorry, I don't remember you." He blushes then, coughs a little. "Did we, uh…"

She laughs. "No, we didn't have sex. I offered, but you said something about breakfast for a little brother."

"Ah. How long ago was this, exactly?"

"Ten years, I think? I lose track after a while."

He nods, and she almost sees the gears turning in his head. "Yeah, Sam would have been fifteen. That makes sense."

"The offer still stands," she blurts, before she can stop herself. He may look a lot older, but like wine, he's aged wonderfully. Before, he was a little too skinny and a little too confident.

He looks at her, then back down to his drink, and laughs softly. "Honestly, on any other night I'd… Yeah, the timing's just bad."

She shrugs, because frankly, she was expecting another rejection. "How so?" When he doesn't respond, she prompts, "Remember, you promised the truth. Absolute truth. No omitting anything."

He groans and pushes his empty shot glass towards her. "I need to be a lot drunker for this."

She instead passes him the whole whiskey bottle, and takes something lighter for herself.

He takes a swig, gasps at the sting, and then looks back up to meet her. "You sure? Really, really sure? Because my life… Some serious shit has gone down recently and you probably don't want to know."

"Look, in my experience, people always feel a lot better after confessing what's weighing them down."

"Yeah, I don't work that way," he says.

"You told me you started the Apocalypse already. That may be a gross exaggeration of your troubles, but I know how you're feeling. Some days I feel like the world's ending, too."

He laughs, really laughs then, until he's gasping for air. She doesn't quite understand the joke.

"You thought it was an exaggeration," he says, as if that clarifies anything.

"Like I said, everybody feels that way sometimes."

"No." He doesn't say anything else for a moment, just takes a swig of whiskey.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. You misunderstood me. It wasn't a turn of phrase. My brother has legitimately raised Lucifer from his cage, and the blame falls at least partly on my shoulders."

Okay, so this guy really is crazy. She straightens and looks at him in a new way.

"I told you, you wouldn't believe me." He sighs. "But whatever, if you consider this payment for the drinks, I can talk all night."

Maybe it's something about the resignation in his tone. Like no one's ever believed him before.

Daisy is tired of being just like everybody else. So she suspends disbelief. Maybe, just maybe, this guy Dean is telling the honest-to-God truth.

"Okay, so you started the Apocalypse. No big deal, yeah? You can just put this guy Lucifer back in his… what did you call it, his cage?"

He looks up at her, and smiles. She sees a ghost of the Dean she met before in his eyes. "You're playing along."

"I've got nothing to lose, do I?"

"Maybe a couple hundred dollars in liquor." His mood seems a little brighter, though, now that she's following his words. "And no, it's not that easy. Besides, Cas is dead, so I don't have any angels on my side anymore. Zachariah is out to get me, so I won't last that long anyway. And I don't even have Sam on my side. _Sam_. He fucking betrayed me for that demon bitch."

"Harsh language."

"Eh, it's what she is. A demon, and a bitch. She manipulated my brother into raising Lucifer."

Daisy decides not to focus too hard on his words. It seems best to just let him talk, and let the meaning of his words fly over her head. Dean already seems to be feeling better, although that may also be in part due to the alcohol.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"Didn't you spend an entire night making enough money to get him breakfast? Seems like you two get along pretty well."

Dean's eyes get that distant look in them again. "Yeah, I did, back then. But he takes care of himself now. Besides, his breakfasts these days are probably a few gallons of demon's blood, and I don't think I can buy that at the company store."

He pours himself a shot of whiskey and knocks it back like it's nothing. Daisy recognizes that habit from ten years ago, although she wonders how he can keep his liquor down when he's been drinking steadily for the past hour.

"You're angry at your brother." Daisy can't piece together the crazy religious crap, but she understands at least that much. That, she's dealt with before.

"Angry? I can't even look at the guy." He slams the palm of his hand down on the counter to illustrate his point. "Do you know how it feels when your brother goes darkside, betrays you, kills the first demon in creation with fucking _telekinesis_, and then frees the devil incarnate from Hell?"

"No, definitely not." When he gives her a look, she adds innocently, "I don't have a brother."

"You're lucky," he says. His words are starting to slur together now, and she wonders if he's finally gotten drunk. "All they do is stab you in the back."

She thinks she's getting the picture now. Dean has always cared for this little brother of his, Sam, and even made sacrifices to ensure that Sam's fed. She remembers him mentioning an absent father, so maybe Dean's protective, too. And then Sam… Sam does something Dean doesn't approve of, really doesn't approve of. He does something that hurts Dean, and maybe hurts other people too, because Dean said something about murder. Granted, that was followed by something about demons and telekinesis, so Daisy's not sure how serious she should take Dean's words.

It makes sense, then, why Dean's sitting here getting drunk as quickly as he can.

"How did you find out?" She asks. When he looks up, confused, she explains, "About the betrayal thing. When did it start?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't even know. Probably some time when I was down in Hell, you know, getting my innards ripped out all because I saved his life. Seriously, you think a guy would be grateful. But no, as soon as I'm gone, Sammy decides he can do whatever the hell he wants."

"You saved his life? And then he betrayed you?"

Dean rolls his eyes, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Definitely drunk, then. "Sam died, and then I made a deal with a crossroads demon to bring him back to life. So then I went to Hell for it. You can't even fucking imagine." He shudders and wipes a hand down his face. "I was stuck down there for forty years, burning and screaming and doing my time. I was there because I couldn't bear to live without Sam. And when I come back to life, guess what I find? Sam's working with a demon, and oh yeah, he's doing her on the side." He throws his hands in the air, as if that explains everything.

Daisy really doesn't understand any of this. But she asked for the truth. If this is what Dean truly believes is the truth, the least she can do is listen.

"Forty years," he mumbles. "And this is how I get repaid? Hell on earth, that's what's coming. I can't get off the rack no matter how hard I try."

He drops his head in his hands. Daisy considers reaching over to smooth down his hair, maybe say something comforting. But honestly? She's not sure what she'd say.

_There there, I'm sorry you're a raving lunatic. _

Instead, she tries, "I'm sorry your brother did something bad, but little brothers make mistakes sometimes. You sacrifice what you have to and maybe they aren't grateful, but it's your job to take care of Sa,. You did what you thought was right. Maybe he had good intentions too, maybe he was just trying to do the right thing and it got out of hand."

She's not really sure what she just said, but the way Dean looks at her then, she knows it was the right thing. Maybe she doesn't have a brother, but she has a little sister, and her sister's made some pretty stupid mistakes down the line. Maybe it's not all that different.

Dammit, Daisy really didn't sign up for this. All she wanted was to flirt with the guy, and maybe hear his life story. She didn't want a drunken mess with 99 problems.

"Thank you," he says finally. The words sound rusty in his mouth, unused. "I don't have any money, and I know I'm a fucking mess. I know nothing I say makes sense to you. But thanks for, you know, letting me talk, and letting me drink. I, uh, I don't know how to-"

Midsentence, he falls asleep on the counter.

Daisy groans. That's just fantastic.

She goes around the counter and reaches into his pockets. She pulls out car keys, which are probably important, because there's no way he can drive home this drunk. Then, luckily, she finds a phone.

The first number on speeddial is Sam, of course. She should have expected as much. Dean may be furious at the guy right now, but of all the names on Dean's contact list, that's the only one she's heard him mention. It's the only one she can trust. She dials the number.

As the phone rings, it occurs to Daisy that this might not be the best idea. Dean said Sam had done some pretty terrible stuff. Daisy doesn't want to call someone wanted by the police.

The other end clicks to life, and the voice that answers is groggy. "Dean?"

Daisy curses silently. She'd forgotten it's early morning. The guy was probably asleep. "Hi, um, is this Sam?"

She hears shifting on the other side, like Sam's getting out of bed. "What's going on? Is Dean okay? Who is this?"

Sam no longer sounds sleepy. He sounds nervous, like he knows something's wrong just because Dean isn't on the phone.

"Sorry, my name's Daisy. I'm the bartender down at Carter's Bar. Your, uh, brother is here. He's sort of, well, passed-out-drunk. I didn't know if I should call the police or what, and it's after closing time, and I-"

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Sam interrupts, and the line goes dead.

Daisy waits anxiously, pacing back and forth, unsure if that was the right call to make. But the situation is rather unorthodox. She's never gone this far from her routine before, keeping the bar open late. She's never gotten this invested in a stranger's life.

She asked for the truth, though, and Dean told her everything. He opened up, and she likes that. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to do that for a lot of people.

She's a little scared by the things she heard, but she puts it down to the alcohol. At the bottom line, Dean seems like a guy who's just worried for his younger brother and worried for the future. He seems miserable. At the bottom line, she hopes she cheered him up a little with conversation. She hopes the talking really did help lift some weight from his shoulders. At the bottom line, that's all that matters.

She's pleased to meet him again, ten years after the first encounter. He's turned out a lot worse than she'd expected, really. Not that Daisy thought about the guy after that night, because she didn't. But at the time, he seemed to have potential. He was attractive, intelligent, and confident. The man passed out in front of her now may be the same man, but he seems a lot more miserable than he did then.

Daisy remembers, at the time, thinking that Dean was putting up a front. It seemed like he was hiding something, some difficult life. Every word from his mouth sounded like a flirtatious lie.

She wonders if he's been the same man all along, except now, he can no longer hide it. Now, the truth seeps through. She was right. This man has seen some terrible things.

She wonders if it was right to call up the brother who betrayed Dean. But Sam seemed truly concerned on the phone. Dean spoke highly of Sam's integrity, just said he'd really fucked up. Maybe Sam was trying to make amends. Maybe Dean would forgive him.

The door swings open and in walks a giant.

Okay, he's probably only a foot taller than her. He stoops, brown eyes nervous and shifty under long bangs. When his eyes settle on Dean, unconscious at the counter, he runs forward.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine, just had a little too much whiskey, I think."

Sam seems almost awed. "He doesn't get drunk that easily. How long has he been here?"

"I don't know, an hour?"

"Jesus, he must have drunk half the liquor in the store."

"Thereabouts." Daisy manages a smile. Sam's almost as handsome as his brother, and a lot more sober.

He returns the smile and offers a hand. "I'm Sam."

"Daisy. I've heard a lot about you."

Sam freezes halfway through the handshake, and bites his lip. "What, uh, what did you hear? Nothing bad, I hope." He laughs shakily.

Daisy rubs the back of her neck. "He, uh, he seemed pretty pissed off at you, actually. Said you did something that really hurt him."

Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah." Not really a denial, but he doesn't elaborate either.

"Don't worry, he won't remember anything he said in the morning. Seriously, he was talking nonsense. Said you betrayed him for a, and I quote, 'demon bitch.'" Daisy laughs, because in retrospect, it was really crazy.

Sam joins in, but his laughter is shaky. "Yeah, nonsense. He's right, though, I did do some really bad stuff."

Daisy shrugs. "You seem all right to me. We all make mistakes, Sam."

He shakes his head. "Not like mine."

"I know, I heard. Apparently you started the Apocalypse." Daisy laughs again, but this time Sam doesn't laugh with her. "I didn't really understand half of what he was talking about. He got pretty drunk near the end."

"What… what did he say?"

"You really want to know?" She doesn't want to rub it in. Dean said some pretty awful stuff about his brother.

"Yeah, I just… I want to make it right, between us."

"He talked about some sacrifices he made. He said he made a deal, I don't really understand the context. More stuff about demons, you know? Crazy talk. Anyway, he said he made a deal, and then talked about Hell. Said he was in a lot of pain, doing time for something. Dean seems to think he made a lot of sacrifices for you."

Sam nods. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. He did."

"He said when he got back, he was repaid with a knife in the back. You weren't grateful for his sacrifice."

Sam flinches at the harsh words, and Daisy almost regrets them.

"I never thought about it like that," he says quietly. Then, "I deserve it. Dean's right to be angry at me."

"He'll come around," she says.

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't. But I have a little sister, and I can never stay angry at her for too long. Dean'll forgive you."

Sam has that distant look in his eyes, the one she sometimes saw in Dean's. There's something else between them, something beyond blood. They've fought together, she thinks. Sam has the same horrors reflected in his face.

He snaps out of his reverie. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I totally forgot. What do we owe you?" He starts fumbling for money in his wallet, but Daisy waves it away.

Sure, her next paycheck will be a little light, but she thinks it's worth this. It's worth seeing into these strangers' lives. Dean was right, his life is much worse than she can imagine. But if she made it even a little better by offering company, than it's worth all the whiskey in the world.


End file.
